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And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.

A grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and discharg'd.

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.

What need a man forestall his date of grief, And run to meet what he would most avoid?

These false pretexts and varnished colours failing, Rare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear.

For never can true reconcilement grow, Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.

I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of death.

Where more is meant than meets the ear.

I sat me down to watch upon a bank With ivy canopied and interwove With flaunting honeysuckle.

So saying, with despatchful looks in haste She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent.

For neither man nor angel can discern Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks Invisible, except to God alone, By his permissive will, through heav'n and earth.

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.

Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance, Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd Into some bruitish form of wolf or bear, Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, All other parts remaining as they were; And they, so perfect in their misery, Not once perceive their foul disfigurement.

. . . And when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

Direct The clasping ivy where to climb.

Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.

Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.

When thou attended gloriously from heaven, Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send Thy summoning archangels to proclaim Thy dread tribunal.

To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull Night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise.

And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.